Oh, Hey!

This morning featured some alarm mal-functioning (likely human error), which I did not handle gracefully. I revoked the Grige's alarm privleges ("No more snoozing for you!!") and generally acted like a total Hulk. And he has an interview today. ugh. Happy Monday to us, more coffee please!

In what can only be described as a karmic oxy-moron, I've had some writing published over at APW today. If you've found your way here via that post - WELCOME! I'm so happy you're here! Here are some posts you might enjoy:

Weddings

Marriage

Feminism

I have to go un-jam a printer for the umpteenth time this morning, proving that the universe didn't totally ignore my alarm-yelling meltdown. I'd be thrilled to hear from you in the comments, and if you live in St. Louis - send me an email and let's totally hang out sometime! (please).

A Few Words From the Bathtub on Marriage and Independence

I write this from the bathtub, where I am sitting, with my shoes on, listening to tornado sirens wail. If you take one thing away from this post, let it be this:

Rule #1 of home disaster preparedness is PUT YOUR DAMN SHOES ON. When it's too late to buy extra water and food, make a family disaster plan, or any of those other things that are so important, please please PLEASE put shoes on yourself and your family. Imagine trying to climb out of a house with a blown off roof and covered in debris (Or run from a zombie) without shoes, and you will see what I mean.

Safety First.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

One of the things I was most worried about before the Grige and I got married was losing my independence. I was worried that there was a "Single Emily" that I would never get to know, or that being half of a marriage would mean that I was no longer a whole person. Most of all, I think I was/am afraid of not knowing how to be alone. In retrospect, you would think he had proposed that we become conjoined twins instead of getting married.

Well let me tell you (alone from the bathtub in the middle of a tornado), this first year of marriage has been a freaking crash course in "aloneness". I'm pretty sure I get my advanced certification after tonight. Perhaps you think I'm being dramatic, and maybe I am. But I was deeply afraid that marrying young would leave me unprepared for moments like this. And here I am, alone, in the candle-lit bathtub on the phone with my mom (WITH MY SHOES ON), and I will definitely survive.

INDEPENDENT MARRIED LADIES!

Quite the opposite, our new marriage has pushed me geographically, professionally, physically, mentally and emotionally. We moved to St. Louis, I faced down unemployment and accepted a new job where I'm pushed harder everyday, I ran a half marathon, sought out professional writing opportunities, and learned how to be alone in a new city (WHERE THEY HAVE TORNADOS) while my husband focuses on his graduate program. I also learned how to use power tools, haggle with mechanics and parallel park. Look out, world!

So I'm raising my tornado-bathtub glass of wine (yes, there is a wine bottle and a sippy cup in my tornado bag) to all the independent married ladies out there. Because marriage is not the same as being surgically attached, and sometimes marriage pushes us to more independence than our single selves could have imagined.

On The Shattering of Illusions

A 1977 Princeton Alumna wrote a letter to the editor of the Princeton Daily about how the young ladies of Princeton should consider marrying young that is apparently twisting up the panties of twenty-something women everywhere.  Sadly, the letter was removed from Princeton’s website (apparently all those brilliant people can’t handle a little controversy? PUBLIC EDUCATION FTW) before I could read it, but I’ve read some mentions and some responses that are cropping up all over the web like daisies.  

I’ve got to admit – the responses are mostly so angry, petulant and self-absorbed that I can readily believe the women writing them are not mature enough for marriage – thus, the letter and its well-intentioned advice is probably not meant for them. What is frustrating, is that smart, young women are still so wrapped up in this myth of “having it all” that they don’t seem to realize that we’re still going to have to make sacrifices. The writer, Susan Patton, is using the benefit of her experience to remind them that the choices that shape our lives often take place long before we can understand their consequences. And instead of being thankful that someone is FINALLY telling driven, smart young women the truth about the choices we will have to make, we are FREAKING OUT and accusing her of pushing some mystical marriage agenda on us. As if that would somehow benefit her. As if. Ugh.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Here is the thing: the wage gap exists. Our biological clocks exist. Sexism exists. There are a billion good statistics out there about how women work harder than men both in the office and at home and still get paid less that I will let PenelopeTrunk tell you about because she is better at it than me. And it’s true – as time goes on, the pool of suitable men dwindles, because their priorities are different. Haven’t any of these girls seen Sex and the City? Am I just OLD and out of touch now? I can’t believe that the party line for these young women is to ignore all those inconvenient truths and get angry at anyone who reminds us of them. It’s like yelling at your doctor for telling you that exercising will improve your health.

And then there is this snarky zinger of an argument: "Girls who are still in school don't want to be defined by the person that they might end up marrying," made by Nina Bahadur in an article over at HuffPo, where she is an assistant editor. In addition to blind anger, her comments made me think of an open thread full of smart, married/engaged ladies over at A Practical Wedding earlier this week. The thread is titled “The Surprise Good” and the resonating theme is that marriage gives many of these women (myself heartily included) the support, confidence and empowerment to reach higher, accomplish more, take more risks and push themselves harder. The Grige doesn’t define me, he pushes me to be my best me. And that open thread suggests that a lot of other good marriages do that too. In my world, having a good career is directly intertwined with the support I get from my husband, even if I do his laundry and clean the bathroom.

In my life, stuff like this doesn't happen without the Grige. Because TEAMWORK, you guys. 

I don’t think Patton is suggesting that ALL women should get married in college, or that we should marry the first guy we drunkenly make out with as freshman. I think she is suggesting that if marriage is something you think you want someday, it would be dumb to miss the opportunity to meet, seriously date, and perhaps even marry one of the plethora of like-minded, smart people that are available to you in college, because it just gets harder after that. I should know, I gave out my real, actual phone number on a rush hour train full of skeezy dudes to score a first date with the Grige. If that’s not desperation, I don’t know what is.

Patton is suggesting that we not all bury our heads in the sand and pretend that the perfect person will just show up on a white horse when we’re in our early thirties and totally ready for marriage. Many of us (myself included) will meet the right guy at the wrong time, and part of growing a relationship is figuring out how to deal with that. It’s MATH, ladies. There are outliers – you might even be one of them, so do what you think is right for you. But it’s pointless to ignore the trends. Maybe you won’t meet the right person until you are 50, and that’s fine. Obviously you, personally, should not get married in college. But pretending that’s going to work for everyone? It’s like saying that climate change is a myth because it snowed in April this year.  

So here I am, shaking my head slowly in disbelief. We plan the ever loving SHIT out of our career paths in college. We learn, and we experiment, and we scheme and dream. We have internships, we solicit letters of recommendation and then we go out into the work world and implement those ideas, sometimes before we quite feel ready. But we grow and change in our career paths and continue to learn and improve. And then someone suggests that we might give the same consideration to our personal lives, you know, what we do with the OTHER 16 hours a day, and we all go ballistic and accuse them of trying to stifle our success.

Beer brewing, and other home adventures.

No one wants to hear about the hard choices that we will all have to make. Choices between romance and career goals, between tacos or pasta, between east coast or west coast, between taking that promotion or spending more time at home with kids. But that doesn’t make them go away. At 22, I tore up about 5,000 pro/con lists between the Grige and the Peace Corps, and I finally chose the guy I had been dating for less than 6 months The last thing that I needed after that heart-wrenching decision was a bunch of self-righteous bitches telling me that I was an idiot to even consider compromising my career for a relationship. Well, life keeps right on happening whether you feel like making tough decisions or not. So let’s try to take Patton’s advice for what it is: advice. You can take it or leave it, but you are out of your damn mind if you think college isn’t statistically one of the best social opportunities you’ll have to meet someone to marry.

Exhausted

Disclaimer: I really want this post to be about my 12 mile long run yesterday. But I already know I'm going to get distracted. I want you to know that I have tried to calm down. I've tried wine, I've tried pranayama breathing, I tried talking to the Grige and my Mom, and I've reached the conclusion that if I am still this angry after 12 miles, or 2 hours and 17 minutes, of pounding pavement, I'm probably not going to relax for a while.

So let's start with the run, and see where we go. I wanted to start early, but let's be honest: I love staying in bed with the Grige for as long as he will let me. I'm building a whole life around that fact, because I am actually a morning person, but it's the only time I get to see him, so I take full advantage. So I dropped him off at studio around 8, and ran to the grocery store, and ate some peanut butter toast and a banana. I actually made it out the door by 10 a.m., which is quite a bit earlier than normal!

I really just want to let that paragraph be, but did you know that I am a horrible feminist because I let my husband's schedule dictate my plans? Do you know that that's what I was thinking about while we snuggled? That I am letting my gender down because I want to appreciate my husband. Yes, I let that stupid article in New York Magazine, which I will not link to on principle, get in my head BIG TIME.

I was actually excited to read it. I think it's so cool that we're approaching a time where women can chose to work, or stay home, or really do whatever they want without judgement. I was psyched to read about feminist housewives, who are devoting their educations and energy to raising responsible, kind, intelligent little humans and to providing care and assistance to those they love. Well, SURPRISE! Instead, I got to read a bunch of barely veiled snide commentary peppered with out of context quotes designed to make these women sound like simpering idiots and make me feel bad about pretty much every single choice I've ever made and will ever make.

And as my anger simmers, I realize that what is so wrong about this article is that it not only pits women against each other, but it pits women against their husbands, and it really makes you wonder what the hell kind of woman could actually win in the world the author paints. It made me feel like the fact that I cooked dinner for my husband last week is not because I love him and want to support him, or even because I like to cook, but actually because I'm participating in some patriarchal scheme that my husband and all the men everywhere have concocted. He wasn't working late, he was actually smoking cigars with all the other bros and laughing about it while I slaved over a hot stove.

You see, my marriage is not a microcosm for all gender roles everywhere. It's actually just a couple of fools trying to muddle through building a meaningful and enjoyable life together. As a team. And if I decided to stay home, or take a job as a CEO at a start up, it would be a team decision, and there would be pros and cons just like every other decision in life. Maybe it would work and maybe it wouldn't, our job is just to find what works for us, which is pretty damn feminist, if you ask me. I suspect we're not alone in this, and I'm tired of making a decision to do what's right for someone other than myself getting read as being a bad feminist. If I start believing that my husband is not on my team, and I'm out here alone fighting for an abstract construct or whatever just out of spite, that's a really sad life!

12 miles is a long time to think about something and not get any more clarity. Which is how I know that this is a big problem. And then last night, after inhaling a bunch of Persian food, our waiter overhead me bitching (and not for the last time) about what a horrible year for women 2013 is turning out to be. I was specifically complaining about the fact that a hotelier in Greece will only communicate with the Grige instead of me, even though we are paying him with MY CREDIT CARD. My tone was somewhere in between exhausted and "what the f*cking f*ck?!?!". And then, at the end of the meal, for the first time in my entire life (throughout most of which I have been either picking up or splitting bills), the waiter handed ME the check. So maybe there's hope. There was definitely a big-ass tip for him.

I think that feminism for me is a little bit like long distance running. It's a mental game, all about choice - how you let people make you feel, which way you turn, whether or not you can keep going. It always makes you hungry and tired, and sometimes, it gives you diarrhea. It's your race, but it's a lot more fun when you do it as part of a team. To win at running, it's pretty much useless to tear other people down. It's not a contact sport. And to be honest, the real win is just finishing for most of us. Maybe I'm reaching for that, but I think it rings true. I should know, I thought about it for 12 miles, or 2 hours and 17 minutes, yesterday.

Life List Fail, and Accompanying Silver Lining

It's time to cross another item off the life list, but not in the usual way. This time, it will be because I will never be able to accomplish it.

I got my current (and first!) passport when I was 16. I got it for a trip to Italy with my AP European History class, where I became so enamored with traveling that I have made it out of the country at least once a year every year since then, with the exception of 2012 (we got married, I figured that's enough to let myself off the hook for a year).

Italian festivals

2004 - Germany and Italy
2005 - Virgin Island
2006 - Italy (again)
2007 - Mexico
2008 - Canada
2009 - Costa Rica
2010 - Hong Kong, Singapore, Thailand and Indonesia
2011 - Spain and Morocco
2012 -
2013 - Wait for it.....

So my passport and I, with the photograph of my broody 16-year-old self, have seen a lot of places. In fact, we've been to every continent, with the exception of South America. And so I made the not-overly-ambitious-at-the-time life list item to get every continent in that passport.

Costa Rican beaches

And then I got married. And changed my name. Emily Fisk has never traveled anywhere, and after much thought and deliberation, she's not going to start this year.

Now, those of you deeply familiar with foreign travel and able to count are probably already aware that my dear passport is about to expire anyway. So when Chad and I decided to take a honeymoon this year, I decided that it would be Emily Fraker's last ride, and I'd say farewell to my passport in style.

The only thing left to do was convince the Grige that we should go to South America and my goal would be complete! Success! Except no - because an arbitrary goal is not really a good basis for planning your honeymoon. Pesky things like flight costs, where your husband actually wants to go, safety and timing actually play in quite a bit.

So, we are not going to South America, ergo, I will not be able to check this item off my list. However, we ARE going to GREECE! For which I am so unbelievably excited I can hardly stand it. Neither of us have ever been there, and there will be lots of history for me, architecture for the Grige, beaches and adventure aplenty for both of us! In the grand scheme, I'm still getting out of the country and can hardly complain. Silver linings FTW!

Noms in Morocco

For the record, I can't recommend planning a honeymoon after the wedding is over highly enough. It has been so very fun to spend tons of time and energy researching the trip, which is something we never would have been able to do while planning the wedding at the same time. We will also have lots of energy and mental space to enjoy the trip. If we had gone right after the wedding, we would have been so busy processing the enormity of that day it would have been hard to take in a new country. To be clear, you should definitely take some quiet time alone after your wedding, but save the big crazy trip for after you've had some time to process.

Different

I've spend a lot of time in the last few months thinking about what is different, since we got married. I haven't been able to put my finger on what, but something is, for sure. And then I realized! there isn't just one thing, there are a lot of them.

One of the biggest/hardest is to figure out who we are in public. I know marriage is supposed to be this big proclamation where we declare ourselves "one" in front of God, our families and our friends. But navigating that disposition in the real world is not quite as easy as you might imagine.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

For one, being introduced as someone's wife adds about 10 years to you. When your brand-spanking-new husband introduces you to a bunch of 23 year-olds who have never known life outside of school, you can feel kind of like you belong in a museum with other relics of the 1950's. And then, you have to figure out when it's appropriate to attend school and work events with each other.

For instance, the Grige is in grad school, for which there are a myriad of events. We hosted his studio section + professors for a dinner last semester. Naturally, I attended that. It was in my home. I cleaned for it. But it was awkward. I felt extremely out of place. I got the same impression when I brought him to a happy hour with co-workers at my new job. It's not that people were rude or mean, it's just that it felt wrong....

 So how do we navigate this? How do we figure out how to be a married couple, at this age, in a new city? We got into this new life together, and we've been leaning on each other to make friends. This problem is 100% unanticipated.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

I'm sure that, as we get older, more and more of our peers will get married and this will get easier. I mean, my parents do things apart from one another all the time: my Dad is in the banjo club, my Mom has a ladies bridge group. But everyone kind of expects them to be together the rest of the time. Just like the Grige and I like to be. I'm fine doing things apart from the Grige. However, we need some sort of social protocol for the meantime. So really? How do you figure out how to be "one" when you are actually two? Where do we fit in each other's lives?

It's not an easy riddle to solve, but it is definitely a key component of all the differences that we're facing post-nuptials.

A Displaced Person...

It's holiday card season! I love holiday cards, and our recent marriage means that the Grige and I have gotten a LOT of them for the first time on our own. It's very exciting. However, I have an observation to make:

There is a thing, with addresses, where people send things to us as "Mr. and Mrs. Grige E. Fisk". I would really like someone to explain this to me. Is it just a convention that has hung on for no real reason? Is there a good reason that we can't just abolish it? Why do sane and reasonable people whom I love still do this?

It doesn't make any sense. I'm perfectly comfortable receiving mail as "Mr. and Mrs. Fisk", that is a good way to shorten us to our married titles. I'm not going to get up on my high horse and complain about the fact that no one cares that I would prefer to use Ms. instead of Mrs. But, if there is room for the Grige's middle initial, there is sure as hell room for my first name.

I'm sure the people who address things this way don't mean to upset me. But if no one ever says anything about the passive subversion of women's worth - my worth - that it implies, they'll never know how much it offends me. Choosing to take the Grige's last name was a hard enough decision for me, and one I'm still not wholly comfortable with. Receiving mail addressed to me as "Mrs. Grige" is like getting slapped in the face. It makes me feel like I no longer exist.

At first, I wanted to justify my anger by saying that I am and always have been the higher earner in our household. Paired with the Grige's debt and my lack thereof, higher earner has been equivalent to "breadwinner" for the last few years, way before we were married. Ergo, I deserve to have my name on the envelope, and maybe people should just start sending things to us as "Mrs. and Mr. Emily Fisk"

However vindicated that argument might make me feel, it's just another layer on the problem cake. Any wife, no matter what form her contributions to the household come in, deserves to have her name on her mail. The end.

So, I'll be spending the remainder of my funemployment contemplating a good way to address (ha! pun.) this with my loved ones. You know, feminist baby steps. 

On the 16th Day of Christmas...

I realized that my true love might need a little help with ideas about what to get me.

The Grige is still knee deep in grad school, so I'm mostly just hoping that he remembers to get me anything at all at this point. In any case, here's what's on my list this year:

1. New boots: In DC, improper footwear was like my winter calling card. After living in Michigan my whole life, I never really felt like the weather in DC merited more than a pair of ballet flats or rubber flip-flops (you know, when it rained). I was wrong then, and it would be wrong now. I need some winter boots that are both warm and hip, and these two fit the bill.

The Sperry Hikerfish boots

The North Face Snowtropolis series boots

Pro-tip - I chose lace-up boots because my calves are huge. If you're buying for someone else, knowing this can be helpful. North Face makes some beautiful lace-less boots in this same style, but I'm sure they'd never fit around my tree-trunk calves. Laces also make it easier to fit your jeans into your boots, if that's your style.

2. Jewels. I always love to get "fun" jewelry for the holidays. I like pieces that aren't too expensive but really make a statement. Anthropologie has some beautiful necklaces which are uncharacteristically reasonably priced this season. I'd suggest checking them out. Of course, the one I'm in love with is priced right around $250. Tears of an emily :-(

 

3. New Skis. I've been riding a pair of men's Fischer race tune giant slalom skis the last 7 years. They're in excellent condition because I've been tuning them myself before and after each outing, but the fact remains that they are extremely aggressive, rigid, really, really long men's skis. They're fast as heck but not much fun outside of a race course. Since I haven't really raced in at least 5 years, they're not really a great ski for me anymore.  

Here they are!

So picking a new ski is something I should really do for myself, but volkl has a few models I'm quite fond of. Mostly, I need something that's flexible, built for a woman's center of gravity, wide enough to handle powder but mostly focused on shredding somewhere between 160 and 166 cm long.  I'm not going to speculate on what skis I should buy, but it would be nice if someone took me out for a demo day...

So that's my list! What's on yours?

On the 6th Day of Christmas

The Internets gave to me....

This amazing tumblr and a partridge in a pear tree. Thanks, McV.

I don't think that the Grige is going to build me a table this holiday season, but I am attempting to get him some fun gifts. Here's a little round up of some fun things I'm wanting to buy my bearded man.

1. A plaid shirt, to make him look like a lumberjack.

2. This way cool drafting chair in mint green by Humanscale. The architect needs somewhere comfy to rest his buns during those late nights in studio.

3. A beard comb, like this mansome handmade tortoise one from Swissco. His beard has gotten very long, and while I love running my fingers through it's multi-colored luxuriousness, he needs something more professional to deal with it.

4. Clark's Desert Boots. These are the original, and I adore this pebbled suede. Warm tootsies are definitely the key to a happy Grige

5. Cool, new prescription sunglasses from Warby Parker. Their prices can't be beat, and my be-spectacled gentleman will love some extra protection from the sun. Their virtual try-on feature will help me find the perfect pair.

6. A little something to help him relax...

So what's on your list this year?

A Mystery Solved: Women's Health

Last weekend, I burst into tears over the fact that network TV (we use an antenna) was airing Notre Dame instead of Michigan for the second week in a row. Not, like a few frustrated sniffles. This was like full-on toddler tantrum tears. I also haven't worn real pants in 5 days, which has to be some kind of record. The waistbands were just not happening for me, which I couldn't figure out.

And then, this morning in a red flash of clarity, I realized what the problem was - I just started my first natural period in over 6 years. After the Grige and I got married, I decided that it was a good time to take a little hiatus from birth control. Mostly, I wanted to give my body a chance to function without hormones. Birth control has always been a little challenging for me, It impacts my appetite, usually resulting in weight gain, it gives me nasty migraines, and it obliterates my sex drive (no wonder it's so effective). All of which I can live with, if I must. I can't help wondering if there isn't a better way. I especially wanted to go au natural for a while to make sure that I am healthy - ovulating regularly and not showing any weird patterns or signs that might be early indicators of fertility problems.

The Grige and I definitely want a child, but we aren't planning to have him or her until I'm in my early to mid-thirties. Since fertility problems run in my family, I want to be actively involved in tracking and understanding my fertility as early as possible. If it seems likely that we might have problems, we want to avoid unknowingly waiting until the graceful evening of my primary childbearing years to start trying. Enter: Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler, a book on the fertility awareness method (FAM) of birth control. 

When I was in college, we had a guest speaker in one of my women's studies classes who said something that blew my mind: "Don't we all deserve the pleasure of unprotected sex without the woman having to deal with all of these complications? Shouldn't science be working on a better way??" It had never occurred to me that I deserved something more than migraines, a non-existent sex drive and weight gain in order to have the kind of sex I wanted with a trustworthy, monogamous partner. Which is stupid, because of course there is a better way. I still think that science owes us a contraceptive that allows skin-to-skin contact and protection from sexually transmitted infections, and FAM is not the answer to that. However, it's an ideal solution for someone like me - in a monogamous, trusting marriage. 

It was a little intimidating to purchase the book. Amazon now totally thinks that I'm trying to get knocked up and keeps suggesting all manner of baby crap for me to buy. However, it's not worse then the deluge of crap that was recommended after I bought The Hunger Games for my Kindle, and it will stop eventually, probably when I buy a bunch of hiking gear or beer brewing supplies. It was absolutely worth the ads for boppy pillows and breast pumps, because let me tell you - the female body is fascinating.

This is what a chart looks like - borrowed from www.tcoyf.com, check out the website for more cool tools and discussions.

Taking Charge of Your Fertility  and the FAM method offer an easy, 3-factor system to track your cycles and identify times when it is safe to have sex without a barrier method, like a condom. It hinges primarily on taking your temperature before you get out of bed in the morning and checking your cervical fluid several times a day and keeping track of everything on a chart. It's definitely something you need to get in the habit of, but it's pretty easy to just keep the thermometer next to your alarm and grab it after you hit snooze each morning. Checking your cervical fluid is very easy and becomes a habit quickly. The charting part is fun and easy to remember, because it's amazing and exciting to watch patterns emerge.

In short, I think this method is going to work great for the Grige and me, and I think it's worth a look for anyone who is also in a monogamous relationship and looking to get hormones and latex out of their daily diet. It's very empowering to know so much about what's going on with my body. It's also practical and useful to know exactly when to expect my period, when I'm at risk for pregnancy and why I'm in such a crabby mood sometimes. Knowledge is power.

The flip side of all that knowledge is that once we start charting, there will never be any uncertainty about getting pregnant for us, if and when we decide to try. I think it's really hard to definitively decide that you are "ready" to have kids, and I think a lot of couples dodge that certainty of readiness by simply stopping the use of contraceptives and "seeing what happens". Then you can assume that it's a sign from the universe that you're ready if you get pregnant.

Any couple who uses FAM won't be able to avoid knowing that they are fertile on a certain day. They will have a strong grasp of the likelihood of a pregnancy resulting from sex before they even get their pants off. Scary. Of course, it's not a guarantee or anything, but the decision to have unprotected sex on a fertile day is a conscious and deliberate one. Couples using FAM can even make an estimation based on some moderately controversial research as to the likelihood of conceiving a boy or a girl based on the day they have sex.

That is way more control than we're sensitized to having over the process of having a child. It's actually a great thing, but it's hard to get used to all that power and control when the myth of conception that we're all taught is so wrapped in mystery and fate instead of patterns and science. Luckily, starting now means that the Grige and I will have lots of time to get used to it before we start exercising our knowledge in order to have a child.

Happy Kitchen-ween!

Since my amazing wedding guests (mostly my second cousins and beloved friends) blessed me with "flame" (read: bright orange) le creuset cookware for our wedding, I decided to celebrate halloween by using ALL OF IT. On one meal. Challenge: accepted!

As a side note, this burst of kitchen productivity is mostly due to the impact of getting a part time job. For one, I hate to cook after I've been on my feet at a retail job all day, so I save cooking for days off and then re-heat, re-heat, re-heat. The Grige doesn't do anything but re-heat at school these days anyhow, so it's no harm, no foul.  I like to make big dishes like stew, soup, pot-pie and casseroles. Then we can take them easily for lunch as well.  Secondly, having days that are "on" at a job, makes me appreciate off days so much more, and motivates me to take on big projects, in and out of the kitchen. This is one of my top arguments for getting a part time job in retail or at a restaurant while you're looking for something full time. It gives you a ridiculous amount of clarity on how to spend your down-time.

Pot Pie Filling... If I told you I don't lick the bowl after this goes into the casserole dish, I would be lying. 

So, back to my orange cookware challenge. Just one Halloween challenge wasn't enough, so I took on a second one from my life list: make the Grige a layer cake. It's a midterm cake - he's swamped right now and feeling pretty down, so hopefully this will pep him up. For those of you who know me well, I'm sure you're aware that desserts are not my thing. I gladly leave them out of event menus, I would have happily gotten married without cake or pie, if I ran the zoo. However, the Grige loves dessert, and one of my outside goals for our marriage was to make myself more "in tune" with his meal preferences, therefore learning to cook for both of us, instead of just myself +1. Since he hasn't been cooking at all lately, it's probably an opportune moment to work on dessert.

I chose the cake for "beginners" from the October 2012 Bon Appetit Mag. It's a chocolate-banana cake with peanut butter frosting. it has 2 layers, is square and involved way more cake-pertise than I personally possess. All things considered, I think it turned out pretty well, though I had to hide my uneven layers with frosting. If you want the recipe, either go buy the magazine or visit their website www.bonappetit.com. One of my biggest qualms with desserts is that I don't want to be tempted to eat food that is bad for me. This idea is brilliant, because the Grige is at studio all night with his classmates, so I can just bring the cake up there and be a hero while not having to deal with leftovers. BOOM! I listened to Cake (the band) while I made it and felt very cool. Even better, I listened to "I bombed Korea" off of Motorcade of Generosity while I bombed the cake with chocolate chips. Appropriate, no?

Frosting was definitely the major challenge for me, considering my lack of coordination. I highly recommend putting your frosting in the fridge for at least 30 minutes before attempting to put it on a cake. Also, definitely let your cakes cool for as long as you can leave them alone before stacking and frosting them. I'm sure these are basics for most people, but following those rules really made my life easier today.

In order to use the rest of my cookware, I tackled our favorite chicken pot pie, and switched the playlist to some vintage, angry Ben Fold Five. This recipe was in the October 2011 issue of Bon Appetit, and I took it on as a cooking challenge last winter. Every time I make it, I tell myself that I'm never making it again because it is so hard, and yet, I can't resist, because it is so freaking delicious. So good, that if I smelled it from a neighboring apartment, I would totally go knock on the door and invite myself to dinner. I prepared it using a skillet, a dutch oven, a large sauce pan, a tea kettle, a rubber scraper a ridiculous amount of mixing bowls. I get faster at making it every time, but it was still a four hour endeavor. I have to say that it was totally worth it - it's a one crust wonder and was absolutely delicious. It will also serve up about 5-6 meals for me and 3-4 meals for the Grige, so it's a lot of bang for your buck. I would post the recipe, but I don't want to violate the copyright, and it's very long, and I've spent a lot of time looking at it today already. If you'd like it, shoot me a message and I'll send it your way.

Cake & Pie

I'm hoping that my kitchen challenges will culminate in some killer additions to my Thanksgiving meal spreadsheet. Today's work taught me that I'm going to ask someone else to bring pie and gave me a brilliant plan for beefing up my gravy. We're hosting my parents and grandparents this year, which will be a blast. I already have a 3-sheet, color-coded excel document outlining what-when-where's of the meal. I can't wait!

So what does everyone else do with their days off? Tomorrow, I think I'm going to tackle homemade bagels, hanging the mirror over our dresser and cleaning out the front room to get ready for our new couch.

Around the Wedding Corner

Things change after your wedding. Maybe not to you, but to other people, more specifically to the way they view you. I'm astounded by how people's perception of me, as a woman, has changed since I donned my wedding band.

Us, with our truly adorable niece, Audrey, last Christmas. Before people started telling me how natural I looked with children.

I always thought that the madonna and the whore complex was reserved for the couches of psychotherapists and Sex and the City episodes. But the moment I said "I do", in the eyes of the world, I aged 10 years and went from a person for whom pregnancy would be a career-ruining disaster to a person whose sole purpose in life should be to procreate. With my husband. Of course.

The curious thing, is that I'm not sure he's experiencing anything similar, and by Caitlin Moran's strategy for detecting sexism (is it happening to the dudes?), I'm smelling a rat.  While I get unsolicited pamphlets on conception from my OBGYN and comments on how natural I look with other people's babies - did I not look natural with babies before? Is there something awkward about an unwed woman bonding with a small child? Good heavens! What have teen-aged baby-sitters been doing all this time? And most importantly, how did they miss the terror in my eyes? - the Grige is just sort of rolling along with business as usual, as far as I can tell.

Me with my niece Emma, perhaps we look comfortable because I've been living with her for six weeks?

Now, I was somewhat prepared for the baby thing. For people of a certain generation, I believe it's even excusable to assume that I must have family on the brain. I don't need those people to know that I actually know more about the best aeration process for boxed wine than my ovaries right now, they're not prepared for that information. But it's more than just the baby thing, and it's more than just the elderly among us.

Being introduced as someone's "wife' is a lot more loaded than you would think, especially when those people are 23 years old. I know that's not that much younger than me, but if you had told me at 23 where I would be at 25, I probably would have fainted on the spot. The good news it that it still means something important, socially, to be someone's wife. However, I get the impression that everyone was expecting a harried looking woman in her mid-30's wearing mom-jeans and waxing on about her last ovulation when they met me. I'm proud to say that I did not deliver, but all the "newness" does sort of make me feel like I should buy a whole new wardrobe, cut my hair off and start speaking in a British accent.

How can I be old? I still drink too much boxed wine and play the  Crocodile Hunter  board game!

I think the most confusing and challenging part of my situation is that I actually want all the things I'm supposed to want. The idea of having a baby does not terrify me. And eating dinner that I cooked every night with the Grige at our real dining room table in our fully furnished home like "adults" makes me happy. I am following the "perfect" blueprint for a woman's life - married by 25 to a smart, handsome man, first baby most likely around the time I'm 30 - life is on track by conventional standards. But that doesn't mean that I let someone else make those choices for me, or that they're anyone's business but the Grige's and mine (and now yours, of course).

It's challenging to feel like a feminist when my well-reasoned life choices are so in line with conventional standards. I could just let it all go and let people tell me how good I look with a baby in my arms and ask when the Grige and I are planning to start a family... But I don't think that I can. Because what if we were trying for a baby and it wasn't going so well? Or what if we decided that kids aren't the right choice for us because we'd rather travel? Of what if, god forbid, we have a baby and decide to do a bunch of traveling anyway? I don't want to spend every minute between now and menopause talking about my body with people who don't know me well enough to get the answers to those questions unsolicited.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography
As it turns out, I really, really like being a wife.

So I'm asking, since when did the window into our private family decisions become open for viewing and since when did marriage make me old? I'm thinking that having a giant wedding where we did a bunch of conventional stuff is probably buried in the answer, but I'm going to unpack that another time. 

Never mess with a feminist with a power drill

That means you, exterior brick wall. Watch your mother flipping back.

Yesterday was not great. I started the day with a little run and then directed myself firmly to drive to the bank, because if I don't make myself drive the car, I will continue to be terrified of driving the car. Well, I had to parallel park, and I don't do well under pressure and there were tears, and honking. I did better with the rest of my errands, driving without GPS and enjoying the blessed joy of parking lots as opposed to street parking.

I came home and made my first ever attempt at hanging pictures that required more than a finishing nail.  And then I learned something very valuable about exterior walls: Don't hang anything on them. Ever. Especially if the screw hole you are trying to make is slightly above eye level when you are standing on the nightstand. I am so sore, all the yoga in the world cannot fix the muscles that ache right now.

Evil exterior walls

I went to be a little upset, not least because the Grige was in studio until 3:00 am and I am oh, so very lonely. So I finished reading How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran, went to sleep, and got up this morning ready for another try. A successful try, if you will...

It's odd, when the Grige and I first moved in together, I was a little sad that I never really had the chance to live on my own. I had lived with roommates, housemates, in dorms, on pull-out couches, but never truly by myself. It's not really a feasible option in a city like DC, and only ever regretted that opportunity a little bit.  But now, in my first year of marriage, I get my chance. No Grige to hang things, or hang out with me, and I am 100% in charge of dealing with the apartment.

So I fired up the old computer, and downloaded sketchup, took the first few tutorials and drew a mock-up of our kitchen wall. Three hours later I turned four crumbling nail holes into actual hanging pictures in our bedroom and our kitchen wall in to a montage of art that doesn't really work anywhere else. I'll share a better picture once I get one more frame delivered.

Fun Wall!

The thing is, I never expected to be dancing around to The Boss alone in my apartment with a bandana on my head, a beer in my hand and a hammer and a drill hanging off my belt. I thought my chance for this experience had passed my by when the Grige popped a ring on my finger. So yes, things aren't ideal right now. But so far, our marriage is the gift that keeps on giving, just so long as you can sort through the frustration to find them. 

Marriage and the Six Week Pause

The Grige and I lived apart for the first 6 weeks of our marriage, and tomorrow I am finally going to St. Louis, to him, to the life that we’re going to have. For us, living apart absolutely sucked. It was like taking the huge plunge of our wedding, which was filled with joy, and then being forced to hold our collective breath for 6 weeks while we tried to figure out what the marriage would be. Well, it is impossible to figure out what your marriage is going to be while one of you is living on a sleeper sofa with a newborn and a renegade pooping cat while working 15 hour days and the other one is diving into his first semester of graduate school 1000 miles away. And so, we held our breath.

I have learned something, from living with my tiny, brand-new niece for the last few weeks. Breathing for the first time is really scary, and upsetting and best dealt with by being swaddled up in a burrito wrap so you can’t flail around too much. And that is how I feel about moving into our new, married life. I’m terrified.

Ms. Emma, my housemate

Of course, I’m frustrated by all the normal challenges of moving – I have to find a new job, get used to a new city where I have to (gulp) drive a car sometimes, decorate and organize a new house, make new friends, find new running routes, introduce myself to the animals at the new zoo… But that’s not scary; it could potentially even be exciting. What I am afraid of is what our relationship is going to look like after all these changes. It’s not clear how much time the Grige will have for me, and six weeks of video chatting when we are both too exhausted to form full sentences has not made things any clearer.

So I get to sit here and listen to everyone tell me how excited I must be to finally see my husband again and get settled in our married life while I hold my breath and worry. the Grige is already so busy with school that he’s not even sure he can spend the whole evening with me when I arrive on Saturday, and that makes me feel so rejected and alone that I just want to scream, which does not make me feel like the good, supportive wife that I want to be. There aren’t many ways to express those feelings to a busy man over the phone, and I know he’s scared about what it will be like too, and how we’re going to manage our time. He’s also terrified that I’m never going to forgive him for picking up our east coast lives and moving them to the mid-west and then leaving my poor, introverted self alone all the time to figure out our lives – like getting food on the table - while he works his butt off at school.

This is what a perfect DC morning run looks like

Meg Keene has written beautifully about how no one asked us to be martyrs, over at A Practical Wedding and that will be my mantra in our new life. I’m giving up a lot, but think of what I’m gaining! I chose to marry him and I am so very proud of him. But I am sad to leave my job, and my friends, and my city that I love. I’ve spent the last six weeks in this terrible limbo where the end is looming and the vibrant color seems to have drained out of everything, even on perfect DC morning runs and at delicious dinners with best friends. So while I’m scared, I also feel like anything is better than the half-way place where I’m living without the piece that makes it all worth it – the Grige. Perhaps that is the greatest affirmation of our marriage I’ll ever get, and all before it’s even really started.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Now we are two, even if we had to wait six weeks after our wedding to get all the way here. I’m packing up my bags, my old name, and I’ll land in about 24 hours as EFF: Wife. And maybe we’ll only have an hour or two together before he has to go back to studio, and maybe I’ll cry and yell about that, but I’m hopeful that I can swaddle myself up in our love to keep from breaking anything while I flail around and learn to deal with it.

From Double E to Double F: Name Changing De-coded, Part II

Since I've hashed out the emotional side to changing your name (or not changing your name), I think it's time to talk about logistics. Because navigating this much paperwork is never fun, and I felt like there were next to zero resources out there spelling out the logistics of name-changing. Also, many of us struggle so much with the emotional debate that we never even confront the logistical issues.

If you only take one thing away from this whole post, let it be that you should just carry your marriage license (laminated, perhaps) around with you for the first couple of months that you are married. You will need it for EVERYTHING.

So first, a step by step tutorial for changing your name, if you so choose:

1. Social Security card. Once you have your marriage license, it can be tempting to skip this part, since it's the most fraught with beaurocracy and all the lines that go with that. Don't be lured in - you need to do this first (I didn't, and it's making my life miserable). To avoid the mess, I would recommend sending everything in via mail. No lines = less hassle. I will make it easy for you: http://ssa-custhelp.ssa.gov/app/answers/detail/a_id/315/~/change-a-name-on-a-social-security-card Go to this web page, and follow the instructions.

2. Driver's license or state ID. Once you get your documents back from the social security office, head to the DMV and get your new license. This is pretty painless, and especially easy if it coincides with an address change.

3. Banks and Credit Cards. For your banking, just go into the bank's local branch with your original marriage license and ask them to make the changes. Credit card companies will often ask you to send in a copy of your marriage license and can be a hassle about the whole thing. My experience was very easy, but I do all of my banking through Bank of 'merica and don't use any outside credit card. Hands down, if everything is linked, this will be easier.

4. Open a joint account. Since you are already at the bank.... Even if you are not planning to merge your finances, I highly recommend opening a joint account. Use it for bills, vacation savings, whatever. The key reason you need this is because people will make out checks to both of you, as Mr. and Mrs., no matter what you chose to do with your name. These are a pain in the ass to deposit (at least they were for us), if you don't have a joint account. You can always split the dough and close it after you've deposited everything.

5. Passport. It's very important to do this last, because the DMV will confiscate your old license, and it's good to hold on to at least one piece of government issued ID with your old last name on it to verify credit cards (before the changes go through), to take flights that you booked before you changed, etc.. It's very nice to have a back-up, and passports tend not to get as much daily use as other forms of ID, so it's okay to wait on updating it. Unless you are an international super-spy, in which case reverse this step with step 2.

While there is no "to-do"list for not changing your name, there are a few things to keep in mind.

1. Someone will definitely write a very well-intentioned check made out to "Mr. and Mrs. Hisfirstname Hislastname" or "Mr. and Mrs. Hislastname". To deposit these, having a joint account will help a BUNCH. Then you can go to the bank alone with your marriage license and politely explain that Mrs. Hislastname does not exist, but that you can prove that you are his wife and would like to deposit this check in your joint account. If you don't have a joint account, you do the same thing, only agree beforehand whose account the money is going into and bring him with you (with government issued ID and the marriage license).

2. Tell people about your decision, because most people are nice and want to address you properly. I have been told a story where a mother found out her daughter was not changing her name at the bridal shower, and it did not go over well.

3. Keep lots of copies (and maybe get some notarized) of your marriage license. Order official extras from the county clerk's office where you got it. Since lots of jerks out there expect that all married people share a last name, you will save yourself lots of hassles by having proof of your union handy most of the time. Get it laminated. Make it a joke. It's okay to be angry about the fact that this is even an issue (why would you say you were married if you weren't?), but if your partner is in a coma and you want to get into the emergency room, arguments about what's fair will go out the window and you'll be really glad you have that silly little laminated sheet. You can cuss out the backwards idiot guarding the door later.

So hopefully this gives some practical insight to the whole, messy process of name changing. I know was looking for this and lots of other information under the heading "So You're Married, Now What?". I look forward to filling the void. Also, why can't I hire a planner to do the paperwork part for me?

From Double E to Double F: Name Changing De-Coded

Since I have described my life right now as "comically depressing", I don't feel in much of a position to be giving advice. Truth be told, I'm sitting on the pull-out bed that I slept on for 6 months when I first moved to DC 4 years ago. There are two litter boxes within spitting distance of said couch/bed and I can hear my adorable new niece squalling upstairs. You have been properly warned, my suggestions come from a den of less-than-desirable circumstances. Upside: cable TV for the first time in my life. If it is possible to overdose on HGTV, I will do it in the next month.

So: name changing. This will be a two-part post, because there are two big parts to changing your name; emotional and logistical. This is the emotional part.

I ran the gamut on name changing options. At first, I wanted both the Grige and I to hyphenate our names. Then I wanted him to take my last name as his middle name. Then I just wanted to keep my name because paperwork is scary and I hate the DMV. Then I wanted us to both change our last name to Grige (I love that you think I'm joking. I totally was not). Finally, I decided after much deliberation that I wanted to keep my full name, but add his last name to the end. And then we went to the county courthouse, and I was told that my only option was to hyphenate or die and that I couldn't have 4 names. There were tears, but I went from EEF to EFF and I don't think I will look back.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

The thing about name changes is that there are a lot of forces at work in the decision process. It's hard to keep track of all of them. Throughout the process, I was haunted by the fact that I might be making an "UN-feminist" decision. Every time someone assumed that I would take the Grige's name, I got all pissed-off and motivated to just keep my name, and demand that our kids take my name too. That didn't work out, because decisions that are motivated by spite (even if it is spite of ignorance), are generally bad decisions. So there is the spite/anger argument. As I described, I did not keep my last name because my in-laws needed some feminist schooling. I have my whole life to do that.

The rest of my arguments/frustrations were centered around the same main issue - family names. I wanted the family that the Grige and I are starting to have a name. Preferably one, non-hyphenated name. I want to share a name with my husband and kids, and it took me some time to figure out what I wanted that name to be. As an only grandchild, I felt very invested in keeping my last name. But I also love my middle name. And I hate hate hate mono-syllabic last names, which the Grige's is. I was also angry that the Grige didn't have to deal with any of this: the expectations of people who barely know me, the hassle of all the paperwork, feeling constantly uncomfortable with the way you are addressed, change in general....

He was a very good sport about all my drama, he actually didn't really say anything through the whole debate. He just listened to me, patiently. Finally, it occurred to me to ask what he wanted, and it turns out that he really wanted me to take his name. Oddly enough, that put a lot of my worry to rest. I felt so conflicted about the decision, it was sort of nice to have someone with a strong opinion take the reins and give me a reason to feel good about changing.I could have my cake, and eat it too - I would just have two middle names, I wouldn't have to give anything up and i would be giving my husband something he really wanted.

Photo: Megan Shiley and her phone

Then, 2 days before the wedding in the county clerk's office, I was told that 2 middle names was not allowed without going to family court. I finally showed my true, lazy colors and took the easy way out: I dropped my middle name and became EFF. While I was upset at the time, I realize now that this is the way I dealt with the whole wedding - I would prefer for things to be imperfect and easy than perfect and difficult. I am a pro at protecting myself from stress. 

It's not like the Grige and I are going to forget what my given name was. It's not like I can't still use Elisabeth if I want to. I just won't have to constantly run out of room in the middle-name space when I'm buying airline tickets or taking standardized tests. And I won't have to go to family court. WINNING. So for me, this is what worked. I'm still annoyed that I have to spend all my spare time running around to the social security office and arguing with credit card companies over my middle initial and the Grige doesn't, but he's being as supportive as he can be from 1000 miles away.

I think the big lesson here is that it really doesn't matter what you decide to do, and that it's okay to not be sure what you want to do. There is no rule that says you have to make a decision right now, or that you have to stick to the decision you make, or even that you have to go by the name on your social security card (hello, Madonna). So if you are stuck on this decision, just table it for a while. If you cut off the obsessing, things might just fall into place. 

We Got Married!

And it was wonderful. I don't know quite what to say about it yet, except that I'm tired. I want to crawl into a tunnel where there are no people for a very long, long time and then my poor, introverted soul can emerge a beautiful, married butterfly.

This is what it looked like.
Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Unfortunately, I'm currently 1,000 miles from the Husband Grige living in a basement with a delighfully well-behaved new-born baby and a cat whose whole life has been turned upside down. I know how he feels.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

I'll be back soon with some good wedding re-cap stuff and some fantastically interesting information about navigating name changing, finance combining and bill handling as newlyweds living across the country from one another (surprise! there's a lot of fighting!). But for now, a few teaser photos from our excessively talented photographer, Summer Osborn.

Oh yeah, it rained the entire day. And no, no one cared.
Photo: Summer Jean Photography